


Crunch (redux)

by orphan_account



Series: Are We Cool Yet? [30]
Category: SCP Foundation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sorry if the last chapter was badly written RIP Mask lolPeanut's POV (gosh I love writing Peanut and Shy so much)
Series: Are We Cool Yet? [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974532
Kudos: 7





	Crunch (redux)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the last chapter was badly written RIP Mask lol
> 
> Peanut's POV (gosh I love writing Peanut and Shy so much)

Something is wrong. I can feel it. The rushing of pages stops, people freeze in place or hurry away. The only good thing is that no one pays me any attention.

I see a Docent leave a patron and join a cloud if its others, all headed in the same direction and me and Shy. Toward our shelves. 

I hope nothing is really wrong. Shy is excited to show the others his alphabet.

No. No no no, bad, bad, bad. A gunshot. I must go fast and see. "Stay here, Shy. Hide please?"

"W-where are you going?"

"I am needing to protect the others. You will hide and I will find you. You stay safe."

"I should come too..." He is wanting to help, but he is also very afraid. I give him a quick hug. 

"It is okay. I will see you soon."

I go quickly, speeding in between men and creatures and books, where is Mask and Doc? I will not lose another of my family, I will NOT.

"STOP LOOK 173!"

MTF guards scream instructions to one another. Their eyes find me through cold visors, and they tighten gloved hands on their guns.

I am prisoner I AM PRISONER I HATE I HATE THAT THEY CAN DO THIS THEY SHOULD NOT BE ABLE TO I SHOULD NOT ALLOW IT, MOVE, PEANUT, MOVE MOVE MOVE—

I scrape an inch forward. Did they blink? I can not tell, but somehow, I don't think so. There is still the stifling, invisible force holding me, but push myself against it again. And scrape forward again. More. Faster.

Yes.

I do not bother to crunch them. I do not want to push this luck.

The shelves open up, and I see it. Everything. A disaster. So many men, more than I can count, firing and firing at Mask. He is trying to climb higher. The shelf below him, and many others are bristling with his tentacles, some battling the guards, others woven together to shield the inside.

Round after round of bullets punch through them, severing many. There is much screaming, everyone is screaming and the they are shooting him and his body and he is falling.

No no I promised I would not lose another I will not I promised I promised I go and go, I reach to catch him, and I do.

I do.

Bullets crashing, ricocheting off me, biting deep into flesh and wood and armor. I shield the host's body. I look for the mask, my Mask, on it's face.

There is only a shred of black-stained porcelain. At my feet I see a thousand more. I did not hear him shatter over the sounds of everything else.

I drop the body.

I lost another one. I failed. I HATE. 

I crunch.


End file.
